


O tidings of comfort and joy

by Kat



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 09:02:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28348845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat/pseuds/Kat
Summary: Stuck in a dingy hotel on Christmas, Roadhog is disappointed. Junkrat isn't.
Relationships: Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes/Roadhog | Mako Rutledge
Kudos: 24





	O tidings of comfort and joy

Come unto Him, ye  
That are heavy laden  
And He will give you rest.  
~ Handel's Messiah

December always felt like a long month, and this one more than most. Roadhog’d wanted to put the frigid, damp of London behind them, head back to Straya, spend Christmas on the beach and let the sun bake the chill from his bones. But just as they were about to make their escape, a rare storm blew in and all of the airports were closed. Couldn’t find a way out for any amount of money or any attempts at intimidation. And he had tried significant amounts of both. So instead of heat, sand, lapping waves, and pints of Coopers they were stuck in a shitty, drafty hotel room. Nothing else to be found anywhere. Full up for the holiday, apparently.

Junkrat had been irritatingly cheerful. “Come on, mate - least it beats sleepin’ in the airport. Bed’s clean enough. An’ more comfortable than the floor.”

“Clean enough for what,” Roadhog grumbled. Didn’t want to admit Rat had a point. He was tired. The past several weeks had been shit - heists gone wrong almost as often as gone right, and too many narrow escapes from the cops… Been on the run too long. Needed a break. Both of them.

Junkrat’d been sniffling and sneezing for a couple of days, clearly coming down with something. Every time Roadhog had asked him about it, he’d shrugged off the concern, said he was fine.Roadhog had his doubts. Cold weather always got to Rat. Going home would’ve helped.

Now Junkrat was off, who knew where, doing who knew what. Left the room at lunch time and wouldn’t let Roadhog go with him. “Just need to clear me head. Enjoy yer quiet. Be back before ya notice I’m gone.” Which was bullshit, not to put too fine a point on it. Junkrat’s absence was, amazingly enough, more annoying than his presence. The silence louder than his chatter. No way to relax, when more than half of his attention was attuned to the surroundings. Listening for the particular step-tap of Junkrat’s foot and peg. Listening for sirens. Explosions. Commotion. But hearing none of it.

As he waited, darkness gathered in the corners of the room and spread. Days too short, nights too long. A solitary string of fairy lights outlined the window, someone’s pitiful attempt at holiday cheer. Several of the bulbs were burned out. Bare branches tapped against the window. Wind whistled through a gap between the sill and the jambs. The opposite of festive. Piss-poor excuse for a Christmas.

Roadhog shook his head at himself. He’d wanted to make something of the day, for a change. Been ages since he’d marked the holiday with anything more than a few extra pints, maybe a joint or two. Then he and Junkrat had been passing the window display at Harrods, with its giant tree decorated with glass baubles and silver tinsel, presents stacked beneath. Junkrat had gazed at the tree for long minutes.

“Never had one of them,” he’d said. Just in passing. But there was a wistfulness in his tone and Roadhog had found himself wanting to change that.

Then a door slammed down the hall. There was the step-tap he’d been waiting for, and the sound of slightly off-key whistling. He reached for his paperback, and flicked on the light, anything to make it look like he hadn’t just been sitting there in the dark, waiting. Then the lock clicked, the door swung open and Junkrat blew in with a gust of wind. He was grinning, a tiny pine tree, no bigger than a houseplant in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Snow dusted his hair and his shoulders and glistened in his eyelashes. His cheeks and nose were bright red.

“Happy Christmas, Roadie!” He kicked the door shut behind him. “Ain’t much, but beggars can’t be choosers when all the shops are closed.”

“...”

“Brr, freezing out there!” He rubbed his nose on his sleeve, sniffed. “Not my kinda weather, even though the snow is dead lovely. Makes everything quiet and calm. Like a whole other world, ya know? Hey, think we can actually light a fire in this place?” Junkrat rummaged in one of the drawers and pulled out a corkscrew, then unwrapped two of the plastic cups and poured each full.

Roadhog finally pushed past his bemusement and crossed the room to the fireplace. To his surprise, it had been laid with wood and kindling, so it didn’t take long before he had a tidy fire going.

Junkrat handed him one of the cups. “Cheers,” he said and took a long drink.

Roadhog drank as well and the wine was smooth, a deep velvet red. It warmed a trail down his throat to curl in his stomach. He sighed and felt himself begin to relax.

Suddenly Junkrat turned away. “ _Huh-isssh! Isshhew! Huh-issh!_ Shit! Almost spilled.”

“Bless you. All right?”

“Course. Just a chill.” He shivered. “Could maybe use some warming?” His smile was both teasing and a little shy.

Roadhog tugged him close, put his arms around him. He smelled of snow and pine.

“Sorry, still… sneezy…” Rat’s breathing wavered, his eyes fluttered closed. “ _Issh! Huh-isshah!”_

“Bless,” Roadhog murmured into his hair. Junkrat tilted his head up and their lips met and he tasted winedark and warm. They came together slowly, the fire building between them like a candle in the darkness, a soft glow but burning bright and clear. And after, when they lay curled together in the bed which was, after all, clean enough, Junkrat’s head tucked in the curve of Roadhog’s neck, warmth surrounding them, Roadhog realized he was happy.


End file.
